


Shadowcast

by cosmicchelc



Series: Lucifendi Stories [22]
Category: Layton Brothers: Mystery Room, Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Demon Summoning, Demonic Possession, Demons, Emotionally Repressed, F/M, Injury, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-18 20:34:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29374674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicchelc/pseuds/cosmicchelc
Summary: When Alfendi was twelve years old, he asks a demon to strip him of his emotions in a deal he really should have read the terms and conditions for.That demon never left.
Relationships: Lucy Baker & Alfendi Layton, Lucy Baker/Alfendi Layton
Series: Lucifendi Stories [22]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1106973
Kudos: 3





	Shadowcast

**Author's Note:**

> man I have had no motivation for anything and I just barely scraped through to write this. maybe it makes no sense or whatever but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> I would say that this pretty much follows up the whole game but there is not Placid, just the brutishness of Potty.

It takes some of his own blood, candles, chalk, a knife and a book from Hershel's personal collection for Alfendi to add some sort of spice within his life besides the natural droll of boredom and university. At twelve, with a father that seems to care more for his puzzles and his assistant more than him, he had to seek entertainment in _other_ places. 

Alfendi finishes the summoning circle, watching the rivulets of his dark vermillion blood stain the wooden flooring of the attic at his self-inflicted wound from his palm. For a few moments, nothing happens and the kneeling young man lets out a huff of disappointment. Of course. Why would he believe in such pesky things? He gave up believing in artificial creations of the human mind long ago. How could he have thought a demon would be much more _believable._ He reaches for a flannel to staunch the wound he created, ready to mutter how ridiculous he was, as the shadows turn to something more tangible, more malleable. He blinks, his reach for the rag forgotten as the middle of the circle holds a figure that his eyes could grasp upon. There was something inherently wrong with what he was looking at; the light bended incorrectly, his brain sluggishly trying to figure out _what_ and _how_ the figure in front of him was even possible.

That figure was himself, he realizes belatedly.

"My, my, did I render you speechless?" The voice, despite Alfendi's slightly higher voice for prepubescent years, still manages to hold a sense of authority that makes the human wince. The young boy scrambles away to the wall, eyes wide to the size of polo balls as he examines the figure properly. The doppelganger was an exact, centimeter by centimeter copy of the young boy, save for the eyes that bore holes into his slightly trembling self, the dark sclera and red dots resembling pupils sizing him up like a slab of meat at the butcher shop.

"No," Alfendi responds, finally managing to stand and stares the copy down. The doppelgänger smirks, raising a perfect eyebrow at him as Alfendi begins to splutter. "You're not real; you're a trick, a figment from my lack of rest—“

"You say that yet you still performed the ritual, knowing fully well that it might be all for nothing. For my human counterpart and with a father that solves puzzles for a living, I would contend to believe that you had some sort of _thinking_ to you." The doppelgänger looks at him appraisingly, "I'm impressed you even tried, though perhaps you're more concerned that when you asked for a demon, I showed up. Did you believe that you would be seeing something a bit more... _demonic?_ "

The shadow paces within the circle, humming to itself but still looking at him carefully. Alfendi isn't even sure what to say to it; he really didn't expect to see _this_ in front of him. It was just his shadow. He had a shadow at every light—the only difference was that this one talked back to him.

"The intricacies don't matter to me, I know you're aware of why I called you," Alfendi says, finally getting his nerves under control. It wouldn't do to be afraid of his own shadow; it was just his own self was standing in front of him. It knew what he wanted; beating around the bush would be inherently unnecessary. 

"Of course." The _I'm you_ goes unsaid, but heavily implied. "Though, I don't suppose you'd like to humour your personal demon and offer an explanation as to why you're erasing your emotions? Your darling sister, I'm sure, wouldn't be making such a deal just because your shared father has went away, again. You know how he is, with that little boy, Luke, was it? Are you sure you would like to turn towards your, for lack of better phrase, inhumanity?" The doppelganger drawls, taking a step forward, almost threateningly. 

"Just do it," the young boy spits out. "I'm tired of it all."

"It's a deal. Your wish is my command, Alfendi." The doppelganger grins, pearlescent bone glimmering against the low light of the candles the human lit. Before Alfendi could even change his mind or perhaps even consider that this _deal_ wasn't going to go his way as he previously intended, the shadows wraps him up and he just feels...nothing.

Eyes of dark sclera and red dots open before flickering back to the olive that the young man once held, the corners of his lips upturned in a cheshire cat grin as he stared down at crude summoning circle.

* * *

"I don't think you fully understand, Baker," Deputy Commissioner Chan says, looking to the ditsy woman that was the newest addition on the force that. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. "A back office like that, I’d say you’d be bored out of your mind."

Lucy Baker stood in front of Chan, newly instated badge on her hip. Chan eyes it, animosity spilling out of him in droves. If Lucy picked up on it, she brushed it off without comment. It wasn't that Chan despised her—he knew she worked hard and had her own brand of enthusiasm that was infectious. For the most part, Chan worried for the young woman, immensely.

"Ee, I'll take anything, Deputy Commissioner, I gotta learn somehow. Even if it's all unsavory, you know? Isn’t there a phrase that goes, ‘you have to start somewhere’?” She glances out the window, all cheery and bright like the rare morning rays that shined on her. 

"I suppose," Chan murmurs. 

"All this sunshine must be a good omen on my first day, don't you think?" Lucy continues, as if he hadn't said anything at all. Chan scoffs in response, looking out the window with her to watch the London traffic pass by.

"Good omen or not, it doesn't make a difference. You don't want to be assigned there—by boredom or otherwise. I wouldn't be at all surprised if it's closed down tomorrow, quite frankly." 

"Aye, well, that's where all t'other cases that no one else can solve get sent, isn't it? Where the real stinkers get cracked!" Lucy says and Chan shakes his head, massaging his temples with his fingertips.

"You say that now, but I don't think you know what you're getting yourself into, Baker.” He says as a last ditch effort—if he can't be obtuse and get her to back off, perhaps a more forward approach was necessary. Lucy peers back to him, wine coloured eyes staring at him intently, regarding his worry for the first time with confusion. Chan coughs, regaining his composure under her scrutiny.

"Eh? But I'm being assigned there, it can't be all _that_ bad, innit?" Lucy says just as Commissioner Barton rounds the corner. The small man strides over, hands behind his back and a smile dancing on his lips.

"That's the spirit, Detective Constable Baker. Don't let Deputy Commissioner Chan put you off by his incessant pandering. I'm sure you'll do very well there." A glare from the older man causes Chan to grimace, shaking his head and muttering under his breath about a 'death sentence.' The man knew better than to argue against his senior.

"Thank you, Commissioner." Lucy responds, shifting in place and preening under his praise. “I think I’ll do good things there, hm?”

"Hmph, good luck with that Baker, especially considering your performance up to now." Chan mutters, rolling his eyes.

"Now I know I did particularly badly in my exams then, that has to be because of the bad Balti I had the night before." Lucy says, sighing. Barton merely laughs, smiling warmly at her. 

"Don't worry, DC Baker. I've put you with a very _special_ Inspector. He won't let you put a foot wrong, he’s quite thorough. And there's not an officer in the force who can match his powers of deduction. I would just be careful with yourself.”

"Eh? Careful with myself?” Lucy raises an eyebrow. Barton blanches for a moment, before gathering up his composure.

”Careful with yourself to the degree that you mustn’t let yourself slip; Alfendi is quite procedural.” He specifies and Lucy’s face dawns with understanding.

”I must be working with someone that good then?" Lucy inquires. 

"Oh, yes, you certainly are. He's exceptional. In fact, I doubt there's a mystery he couldn't solve if he put his mind to it. He's just very... _particular_ with how he likes things to be done. I would recommend doing whatever he asks and let me know if things go south. I'll be more than willing to put you under Inspector Dartwright, but I think you can crack that icy exterior of his." Barton says with the bluster of someone who wasn't entirely sure of himself.

"Well, I'll do my best—no promises on melting the ice though. I'll get cracking then and introduce myself straight away." Lucy scampers off to the back offices and Barton strokes his mustache as the two senior officers watch her practically skip to her newly assigned hellhole with an air of innocence.

"Are you sure about this, Commissioner? He's...incredibly unstable. You could be putting her in danger, what if..." Chan trails, glancing over to his superior for an answer. Barton grimaces, shaking his head solemnly.

"Dartwright is in Dublin until he finishes up that case—there's nobody else that could take her and above all else...I have faith she'll survive. Test scores aside, I brought her on because she holds so much potential and spirit that could crack into him and find an answer to that young man. I believe in her.” Barton admits, running a hand through his snow white hair. Chan purses his lips.

"And if she doesn't succeed?" Deputy Commissioner Chan asks, raising an eyebrow. Commissioner Barton turns to him properly, a grave look in his eye. 

"Well, there goes another promising DC, I suppose.” 

* * *

When Alfendi finishes college (much to the fears of the rest of his peers), he manages to get a career as a Detective Inspector. The whispers argued between Alfendi's unnerving behavior or the dreams he forced upon others that did so much as _look_ at him. The only person that had look at him and hardly trembled in fear was Commissioner Barton, who appraised his skills and let him be in the back office without a hitch, even at the disapproval of everyone else on the force. It was admirable, for he knew exactly what effect he had on everyone else.

Alfendi knows he makes them terrified, their silly human mentalities knowing _something_ was inherently _wrong_ with the young man that stood by them. They might not necessarily understand exactly _what_ it is, but that dread is enough to keep them away. If they braved a chance to speak to him, his sharp tongue and threats didn't go without a shiver down the recipient's spine—and it wasn’t just his words alone.

He loves it all.

He doesn't mind, really, their stares. If anything, he could say they were flattering. Their fear was hilarious, especially as they stared at him, trying to determine what was so _off_ and _wrong_ about him. Someone might have said that his aura was off; another might claim that his eyes flickered the slightest bit of black ink when they held his gaze. Truly, a majority of them just looked away, avoiding a handshake and pleasantries, and tried to stay in a room with him for less than five minutes if possible.

Lucy Baker, however, was the second person that didn't tremble. if anything, she grinned at him and brushed off his attitudes as 'eccentric tastes' rather than terrifying, bloodcurdling mannerisms that would send any sane person running. He was sure that he could probably kill a person in cold blood and she’d justify it, one way or another because that’s just how she was—believing the best in people, constantly.

Oh, this was going to be grand.

* * *

"Al!” A woman calls out one quiet Wednesday morning into the back office that Lucy—much to the Prof's chagrin—calls the Mystery Room. “Al! Hmph, where the hell is he?" 

"Can I help you, miss?" Lucy asks, standing from her position from the desk while she searched for a pen. The woman raises an eyebrow, her eyes scanning the young Detective Constable from head to toe, appraising her quietly. 

"Oh. You're not Al." The woman says lamely, shaking her head in disbelief.

"Ee, no, I'm not. Just er...his assistant. Lucy Baker."

"His assistant?" The way that the sick woman's eyes widened was almost comical and perhaps Lucy would have let out a bark of laughter had Lucy not been experiencing the same thing over and over these past weeks. Lucy would introduce herself as the Prof's assistant and they'd whisper quietly under their breaths as if she couldn't hear them. She didn't really see what was wrong with her mentor to the rest of the force. Even as he was a little strange, almost having the strangest aura around him, it didn't mean he was any less better than anyone else she knew on the force. At most, the man was slightly unnerving and could be forceful, aggressive, and demanding, but he never did anything too bad—not in her eyes, anyway.

The longer she stayed, the longer people called her crazy behind her back. Deputy Commissioner Chan checked in on her whenever she was on break, the janitor, Dustin, mutters to her about how he'd never stay in a room with Alfendi, going so far as to call him mental. The blonde woman with the striped blouse and pencil skirt only looked at her in pity, while the man with a toothpick in his mouth always seemed to stare at her in an incredulous manner, as if he couldn’t believe she was still standing in one piece. Even the Commissioner himself caught her before she went inside, asking if she was alright and if she wanted to transfer.

"Ee, aye. Can I help you?" Lucy asks, trying to sound kind even as she was steeling herself for the 'you shouldn't be around him, get yourself some help, maybe get another mentor' speech. The woman regains her composure and nods.

"My name is Florence Sich. Achoo! I work at the lab." Florence introduces herself, "I was looking for your...mentor. I have a case for him."

"Aye, he said he'll be back. Had to get a file, I think, from Justin?” Lucy shrugs, then decides to bite the bullet before it could hit. "Don’t suppose you’ll give me the speech too, eh?”

"Hm? What speech?" 

"By ‘eck, I’m sure you know what I mean. The speech; the whole 'you're on a suicide mission and you should get out while you can' one. You wouldn't be the first one anyways." Lucy says bluntly, crossing her arms defensively. She'd rather get this out of the way than have more of the pity looks, which she could tell Florence was going to give her very soon when the Prof arrived. Florence’s eyes flicker in recognition and she shifts in place.

"Achoo! Well, I take it you've heard it from everyone on the force that finds out you're here?" 

"Aye, they treat me like I'm stupid, like I'm some berk who has a death wish! I'm not! Nowt makes sense with you lot. The Prof is really nice, you know. He's a little rough on the edges but he's been good to me." 

"Good to you? The _Prof_?" Florence raises an eyebrow, sniffling.

"Aye, is there summat wrong with it? He gets upset but he doesn't really mind, after awhile." Lucy grins. The Prof had been quite frustrated with her at first, but he didn't try hard enough to get rid of her or stop her, so she assumed it was alright. "He's a softie, that Alfendi of ours."

"Now that's a first. Just be careful, alright? Achoo! You're the first one I've ever heard who's stayed with him for longer than a day without losing your head. Most of his old assistants and hell, even anyone that gets _near_ him get these dreams; have you had them?"

"Blimey, what dreams?" Now this was a different territory; Lucy had people telling her off without much evidence, but never like this. Using _dreams_ as a reason why she should leave, now that was unique. Florence runs a her IV-attached hand through her hair, her face taking a quality of dread that Lucy would have only attributed to someone truly terrified.

"You haven't had them? The dreams, the ones where he..." Florence trails off, looking away. Somehow, the warm orange paint of the Mystery Room looked much more interesting than Lucy's bewildered expression. "Really, you don't have them?"

"Erm, am I supposed to? I’m not really much of a dreamer—I don’t remember them if I do. Nowt that I can recall nor has he done anything to me. 'eck, if anything, I've been doing really well, that's what the Prof's been saying." Lucy shrugs. Technically, it’s not like he’s actually saying that she’s doing well, but she thinks he is based on the lack of lashing insults on her mental capacity was enough for her to assume as such.

She puts her attention back to her search for a pen, finally finding it and grinning in triumph. Lucy peers back up at Florence, who's mouth was now gaping open like a fish. At Lucy's expectant look, the forensic scientist clears her throat, blinking.

"Well then. _Definitely_ a first. I just hope you know what you're doing, Lucy. Achoo! If I were you...well, I wouldn't want to be around him for any longer. At least you're safe, so long as a criminal is present." Florence takes the file from under her arm, placing it on the desk. "Just tell him to check on this, I'll check up the case when...he's not here. Achoo! I'd much rather talk to you than him, if I'm honest."

Florence takes her leave and Lucy presses her lips to a thin line, killing Florence’s words over. Dreams, hm? It sounded mad—it’s not like Alfendi could have control over the dreams she has; that sounded mad. Utterly ridiculous. Sure, the Prof may only seem to find genuine delight in the criminals and corpses they find and sure, he might only ever give her a condescending smirk, but he wasn't an otherworldly creature that could go into _dreams_. That, in her eyes, was a step too far.

 _They must be the mad ones,_ Lucy decides, shaking her head and looking back down to her notebook.

* * *

 ** _"Do you wonder why she still stays after all the vitriol you've thrown her way?"_** Alfendi's human shadow asks, while his demonic counterpart stays in the Mystery Room all by himself, analyzing cold cases from the Reconstruction Machine; there was no murder going on at this very moment, thus the machine was next best thing. **_"She doesn't care what other people think; I’m sure you’ve heard the whispers of her insanity at staying. She doesn't even have the dreams, isn't that fantastic?"  
_**

"Shut up," he responds, shaking his head and focusing on the gruesome crime scene photographs in his hands. "She's just incredibly dim or oblivious to the things around her. I'm inclined to believe both, if her detective work is any tell. She's a hinderance.”

**_"If you hate her so much, why don't you transfer her to Dartwright? Hasn't he returned from Dublin? I'm sure he'd actually take care of her and I'm sure you'd love to get this dead weight off your shoulders—"  
_ **

"That moronic simpleton could hardly do anything worthwhile! No, she stays here." He cuts the shadow off, waving him away.

What the demon really wants to say is that nobody, not anyone in the world, would take her away from him if he could help it. Nobody would take the warmth she radiated to him, _only_ to him. He could already feel his shadow smirking in a premature victory. The demon continues glaring back into the Reconstruction Machine, ignoring his shadow, but the seed of thought was already been planted. 

The shadow says nothing more to antagonize the man, but if the clenched, quivering fist of his demonic counterpart is anything to account for, he knows that the end of this deal is coming closer.

* * *

Lucy never understood why the Prof had a Reconstruction Machine when he preferred being as hands-on as possible when it came to investigating murders, but she knew better than to ask moronic questions like those. Instead, she clamps her mouth shut and follows him like a loyal puppy to every crime scene. It hardly goes unnoticed when everyone blanches at the sight of Alfendi coming in like an unstoppable force, only to let out a sigh of relief when they see steadfast and kind Lucy behind him. Nevertheless, Lucy doesn’t mind being with him, doing all the work that Alfendi found beneath him—there was never a dull day with him.

Though, with such a reputation, it was only inevitable that an accident would happen.

Lucy eventually gets assaulted at one of their cases. It had been by complete chance; it wasn’t as if the two would know that the murderer would come back to the scene of the crime when Alfendi wanted to check one more thing that the Reconstruction Machine couldn’t remake. Lucy's positive reputation with the NSY wasn't enough for the members of the force to be willing to offer them back-up for extra trips like these. The Inspector was used to being alone, thus completely unprepared to support another being when the suspect jumped out of the closet, ramming straight for the young Detective Constable and knocking the breath out of her lungs. The glint of silver gives her the indication that the man had a weapon—a knife, perhaps—but the man doesn't have the best hand coordination and misses her midsection entirely, yet manages to slash a nasty gash to her side.

Pain and blood both blossom from the wound and she cries out, attempting to push the man away before he could aim better. She kicks him in the shin and he staggers, grimacing at the blow. 

In hindsight, she thinks she could have defended herself, sans weapon. The man was uncoordinated, acting on impulse rather than thought, and seemed to be more of a threat to himself rather than to others. Also in hindsight, she wouldn't have thought today would have been the day she saw exactly what all her co-workers had been speaking of for almost a year now. Alfendi grabs ahold of the man in a feat of strength she didn't even know he possessed—their suspect had to be at least 13 stone—and hurled him into the wall, the plaster cracking in a satisfying crunch. Alfendi pulls out scissors—since when did he have those in his trench coat?—and prepares to stab the young man, who was already trembling at the sight of Alfendi, begging for mercy in hushed tones. The suspect was already backed in the corner, petrified under Alfendi's gaze.

"Prof, no!" She yells, scrambling to her feet, wincing as she held the wound to her side. "Don't hurt him!"

"Why? He deserves to die." His voice is eerily subdued, monotone in it's delivery. Lucy pulls at his trench coat sleeve, staining the dark blue with red. He refuses to relent—if anything, he brings the sharp incisors closer to the man's throat. Lucy bites her lip. "Give me one good reason why this scum shouldn't be killed.”

"You'd go to prison, Prof, I can't have that. Who's going to teach me 'ow to be an Inspector?” When the man didn’t budge, Lucy persisted. “Ee, they'd throw the case out too if you hurt 'im. Come on, Prof, lets just call Hilda or someone to come here, it'd be better for him to serve his punishment than to give 'im a quick end for all the things he's done."

Alfendi blinks, peering to Lucy as if he was looking for something in her expression, as if it held all the answers to the world. Lucy stares back; she never realized how dark the Inspector's eyes were, up to this point. Were they always this devoid of life, or was this a new occurrence? Alfendi glances down to her wound, eyes narrowing and he turns back to the whimpering man beside him, hitting him in the head with a well-placed strike. The man goes limp and Alfendi walks away without another word. Lucy worries her lip, letting out a low exhale and pulling out her mobile for someone to come collect him and an ambulance for her.

* * *

_**"Do you feel it? The sentiment?"** _

"Shut up! Sentiment is a weakness, _she_ is a weakness. I don’t care about her." The words come out with less bite than he desired. If anything, the argument seemed invalid, almost ridiculous coming out of his mouth. Anyone with eyes could see that Lucy meant something to this Alfendi Layton, by all fronts. 

_**"You were more than willing to kill that man at the flat, weren't you? Didn't you want to watch him burn because he merely**_ **touched _her?"_** The demon remains silent at the shadow's taunting. He wouldn't admit to such a folly of weakness, on how he wanted to skin the man that hurt her alive, gouge his eyeballs, break the bones in his fingers and feet, to watch his corpse deteriorate until the earth reclaimed him. He would have too, had Lucy been away. The demon has half the mind to attack his own shadow for antagonizing him—what an amusing thought, attacking your own shadow that lingers—but he remains seated instead. 

_**"I don't blame you, I'd fall in love with her too. I think I have, honestly."**_ The shadow continues; the demon growls low in his throat. How dare he—! _**"Sentiment** **isn't a weakness, did you know? It's power. The most powerful thing out there; the motivator for many. You're the all-powerful demon, yet you have the propensity for ignorance of the ilk you're meant to know like the back of your own hand."**_

" _Shut up._ I know what you're doing. It's not going to work, you're trying to make me think about it, make me consider her as more than just a pound of flesh to play with as I see fit. Human like her are nothing." He ponders around in his miserable flat, trying to close his eyes—but everything seems to turn back to Lucy. The darkness, the place he revels, breaks away whenever he merely thinks of her name. The void seems to be brightened and broken by the thought of her alone—how could she have gotten under his skin so fast?

**_"Oh, believe me, she is hardly nothing. I think she's quite amazing, absolutely extraordinary. You're exhibiting so many_ human _characteristics ever since she came to the Mystery Room._ _You just failed to notice just how much of an effect she really has."_**

The realization of the human shadow's words hits the demon like a lorry at maximum speed, almost knocking him out with a dizzying sensation. His shadow was right, as much as he detested admitting such a thing. Lucy Baker had trickled her way into every aspect of his life, completely bypassing everything that kept him from giving into the very thing she made him feel. He clenches the edge of the desk tightly, his knuckles turning white at the strength of his hold.

He has to stay away from her if he wants to remain in control. He locked his weak shadow away seventeen years ago when a little boy wanted to run away from responsibilities of sentiment; it would do very little to slip and let him escape because he too fell under that spell.

* * *

The Prof acts like she's non-existent the following Monday morning, practically ignoring her in favor for practically anything else for the subsequent days to weeks. Doesn't ask about her wound (which hurt to maneuver around with), doesn't ask about her feelings, doesn't ask about _anything_. She almost feels hurt by this—the defenses she had been making for the whole year on his behalf were exhausting, no less frustrating. Sometimes, especially now with his cold shoulder, she wonders if her fellow officers were right about him. There certainly was _something_ when she was injured, but she concurred that it was more bloodlust rather than him wanting to protect her. It's not like he'd care much for a lowly DC like her; she'd probably be as disposable as a tissue. She was.

It'd a depressing train of thought, she notes, but could anyone blame her? Much to everyone's mutual dismay, she felt something for him, something akin to affection and dare she say it, love. She knows, somehow, there's a better person under that bleak demeanor he carried himself with. Maybe she should just move to another department, another Inspector. She wonders if Inspector Dartwright was back yet—perhaps he'd be better to learn under. At the very least, she would be away from the source of her heavy heart.

It's at that thought that she gets a note telling her to come to Forbodium Castle alone, lest bombs get detonated at Alfendi's flat or at the New Scotland Yard. Being the foolish person she is, she does as told and goes alone.

Diane Makepeace explains it all when Lucy comes, apparently meant to be bait for the one and only Inspector Layton that had killed her father several years ago. She almost laughs at that, self-deprecating as it is, for there was no way that the Prof would come for her, not when he didn't seem to care about her in the first place. If he could kill in cold blood, as Diane was claiming, so what was another body to add to his count?

* * *

It's one picture of a tied-up and blindfolded Lucy Baker in a wooden chair and a rapidly mottled bruise on her cheek that spurs the demon Inspector into a red-tinted rage. 

His assistant, _his Lucy_ taken by an old score that he had forgotten all about. Had it been years prior to Lucy, the demon would have scoffed and remained level-headed; he'd come for the hostage, if for the mystery, but nothing more.

 _ **"How does it feel to fall so far down?"**_ His shadow taunts, laughing at the man's hurry.

"You're insufferable." He wastes no time making his way to Forbodium without another hitch, breaking several traffic laws on the way. "I have not fallen, I _refuse_."

_**"Oh, believe me, demon, you surely have. What is it like, I wonder, falling in love as a demon?”**_

"No, shut up. You can't. This isn't sentiment, it's not! I locked you away." He growls as he slams the squad car door shut behind him. His shadow looms over him with a smirk and for once, the demon is afraid he’s lost. How very _human_ of him. "I locked you away! You're supposed to be—!"

_**"You can't lock up your own shadow, demon. Don't you know? The shadows follow you everywhere."**_

* * *

He goes into the castle and Diane doesn't know what she has wrought by taking what was _his_ until he appeared; coming out only moments later with an unconscious Lucy Baker and the shine in his olive eyes that hadn't seen the light in seventeen years.

* * *

Lucy comes to the waking world in a location unfamiliar to her; it takes her a moment to realize that she was in a flat. It also takes her another moment to feel she’s being stared at and a subsequent other moment for her to feel a warm hand clasping hers. She shifts her head to the side, looking into the eyes of her mentor, who’s smiling brightly. The dark tint of his sclera that she had seen when she was injured had dissipated, leaving nothing but a glow that, for once, seemed human.

”Prof?” She asks, trying to remember her last waking hours. Diane, bomb threat, chair, Alfendi appearing...the rest all seemed so hazy. Did she pass out? She was blindfolded for a lot of it, she knows that much.

"I'm here, my dear Lucy, right here." Now that wasn't right, the Prof never deigned to call her anything but her last name. The somnolent haze goes away and she sits up, ignoring her protesting muscles in favor of staring at her mentor properly. Gone was the edgy trench coat and perfect suits—he wore a warm jumper and a smile that reached his eyes. For once, it lacked the malice of underlying intent; rather, it was almost as if he was actually _pleased_ to see her. Either her entire career up to this point had been all but a dream (which was obviously highly improbable) or something had changed. 

"Ee, Prof...what...?" 

"I'm here, Lucy, the real Alfendi," he repeats again, her name brimming with warmth rather than it's traditional Arctic apathy. Lucy's brows furrow and her eyes narrow into slits as she contemplates the words. He looks at her with such an intensity that she glances around, briefly seeing a shift in the light. Alfendi's shadow seemed to have flickered—was that just the light playing tricks on her eyes after having what she could only guess was a mild concussion? She turns her attention back to his expectant gaze.

"Er, aye, I know you're here and you're most certainly _real_ , I'm not _that_ out of it, Prof, but what happened? I was at Forbodium, aye? What happened to Diane—"

"That's unimportant." He says, cutting her off. She opens her mouth to ask what the bloody hell he could possibly mean by it being unimportant, considering the whole bomb threat to their mutual place of employment and his flat when he surges forward, capturing her lips with his chapped ones, like a lover would. She revels in it for only a brief moment before pulling away, pushing the Detective Inspector away with heavy arms. This wasn't the Prof—he didn't _do_ this.

"By 'eck, Prof, what has gotten into you? Did you hit your head or somethin'?" Lucy asks, incredulous—he must have gone mental. Alfendi's smile only widens, shaking his head.

"No, nothing like that." He cups her cheeks, a thumb stroking the bruise Diane left. "It's all you, it's only ever been you. Thank you, my dear."

**Author's Note:**

> up to you to determine what happens and why Forbodium happens in this run—I considered making a big, intricate plot about it but I just don't have it in me haha


End file.
